Monday, December 5, 2011

Participation in the now-named Gift Exchange is required (we used to do Secret Santa but my family is made up of militant card carrying AD(H)D folks who pride themselves on forgetting a) we were even doing this, or b) getting the names wrong so some years some people got nothing while others get multiple presents – I’m the odd one out. I don’t have AD(H)D). Now we have a list. A visual list. Everyone knows who’s giving to who, and who’s getting from who.

The list of the gift exchange will be e-mailed to you several times because my mother has a stranglehold on it and insists she can do it. The first list will be in a format no one can open. The second will be in a format we can open, but the list will be wrong. The third will be accurate but no one can open. The fourth will be the right one.

The person you are to give a present to will never tell you what they want for Christmas, so you just have to guess.

You may want to tell the person who’s giving to you what you would like for Christmas… good luck with that! You most likely have someone who doesn’t use e-mail and prefers hand written letters, in which case, they won’t give you their mailing address or will claim it was eaten by a pack of rabid wolverines. Just go with it. It’s only $30. That’s the requirement. No presents may be given which have been paid less than that amount.

Gift cards are bad ideas. You will be met with groans and the phrase, “Thanks – but I never use these. I think I have several in my wallet from previous years.”

Festivities occur the day before Christmas at Grandma &amp; Grandpa’s house. Guests arrive around 5 and stay until precisely one hour later than the previous year. Last year it was 1 a.m., this year it will be 2 a.m., and so on and so forth until one year we just show up and leave again.

There will be ham.

There will be a vegetable tray with dip.

There will be meatballs. Sometimes my uncle sticks little carrots in them and makes them into penguins.

I’m vegetarian. If you are too, I advise eating prior to knocking on the door.

There will be the following dessert appetizers: dipped frosted Ritz crackers, peanut butter-chocolate circle things (biscuits? Cookies?) – whatever, just eat them, they’re good; round (biscuits? Cookies?) with chopped up (nuts? Chocolate?) I can’t decide if I like them or not; and then, if you’re lucky, there will be Nanaimo bars. One year there were no Nanaimo bars because my Grandma deemed the bars solely liked by my cousin who wasn’t going to be there. Even after we all complained that year we liked them too, they are still linked to his name in her mind. If she makes them, eat them. Quickly.

There will be hot buttered rum. There will be hot buttered rum mix, and a leeeeeeeeetle bit of rum. Our ancestors are Puritans after all. Wait til you meet the other side of my family…

Presents will not be opened until everyone is so doggedly tired they want to go home. It’s just how it is. At some point, someone has to say, “It’s time to open presents.” You could do this yourself, although it’s good to have a partner because this will indubitably take another half hour from the first suggestion to the next for the idea to sink in with everyone else. No one wants to appear greedy – but if you want to leave before 2 a.m. this is how you do it.

Presents are opened. Wonderfulness ensues – now that we have the gift exchange sorted out and everyone receives a gift that is (if I sound bitter it’s because I have been on the not-receiving end more than once – never gonna let it go).

Everyone departs slowly but surely. It will take you an hour to get out the door, so plan accordingly. First you must motion to leave, start gathering your things, slowly truck them toward the door, give a round of hugs and make eency little steps toward the door as people will keep talking to you and starting new stories.

The End

*ADDENDUM: You may find that you’ve attended a Christmas Eve where entertainment was required of you. Don’t feel bad if you weren’t made aware of this. Trust me – nobody else was either.

X-MAS DAY with THE KLENAK’S (and Zinovich’s): aka The Other Side of the Family

Let me first explain: I am a Klenak – my grandpa was from Serbia. My grandmother, from Croatia. My grandmother had 2 kids before my dad, my aunt and uncle, with another man, a Croatian. His name was Zinovich. My grandparents are gone, but the bitching remains about how Yugoslavian everyone truly is.

<- (I don't know who that guy is.)

The bar is to your left as you walk in. There will always be: Absolut vodka, a bottle of Squirt, and faded cans of Coke that have been on the back porch for over a year. In the fridge is orange juice to make a Screwdriver, and white wine.

There are 2 TV’s, one in the kitchen next to the bar and one the size of the living room wall in the living room. Both will be on. Each will be playing sports.

Arrival Instructions:

People will already be drunk and you’ll be greeted with loud and raucous “Hey there’s (insert your name here)” and “Where the hell ya been?!”

Set your presents down in the living room under the tree which is always color coordinated with new colors every year. Last year I think it was blue and magenta.

My uncle will be in his chair in the kitchen watching the game or in his chair in the living room watching the game. If you like sports, feel free to unwind on one of the many recliners in the living room but don’t make too much chitchat. The game’s on!

Fix yourself a drink. If you don’t, someone else will.

My aunt will be keeping an eye on dinner and never sits down.

PRESENTS

This usually starts with a phrase from my aunt that goes something like, “Well what the hell, better open presents for chrissake it’s already 3 o’clock!”

Then you find a chair and people start handing you boxes with your name on it. Everyone opens in a free-for-all under the urging of my aunt who wants to get this over with and complains about how she never knows what to get anyone.

Then there’s some manner of show n’tell as the wrapping and ribbons and bows are stuffed into a large trash bag simultaneously.

DINNER

There will be lamb.

There will be sauerkraut.

There will be potatoes sopped in lamb juice.

There will be salad with cut radishes and lettuce and cucumbers soaked in vinegar.

There will be store-bought yellow rolls that I have never seen anywhere except at my aunt’s dinner table, and they are delicious.

My uncle will drink a glass of milk which my aunt brings to him toward the end of the meal.

Then my aunt will ask if anyone wants pie, yet?! To which everyone groans No, not yet! And my uncle takes his walker back into the living room to watch the game in there.

UNO

It’s not necessarily required, but if you’re going to visit the Yugoslav’s you have to play Uno. If you’ve never played, you’ll be bullied into playing so best be prepared. And we’re ruthless. We don’t care if you’re a beginner. We’ll strap you with Draw 2’s, Draw 4’s, etc.

About halfway through our goal of 2,000 points we’ll have pie: lemon meringue, apple, and a berry one.

Just before someone goes out, or just after, talk always turns to money.

When they start talking about taxes, it’s time to go home.

OPTIONAL: Bring your own polka music or accordion. They'll love you forever!!!

Happy Holidays everyone!

Be sure to check out Lupe Mendez's blog for tomorrow's next stop on our Holiday Blog Tour 2011

Friday, November 25, 2011

I and 22 of my other writer friends have put together a holiday blog tour - 23 nights of different blogs and different writers. We are all working away on Christmas/holiday related stories that will be uploaded on our assigned day. Mine is December 6th, so look forward to seeing a new story from me on that day at my blog: dvklenak.blogspot.com! I'll be posting reminders here as well as promoting their blogs as well.

Friday, August 26, 2011

You never know when it will be the last time you see someone. I unfortunately learned a few days ago that a good friend and colleague of mine passed away. She'd been battling cancer for several years. In fact, she came to the Master's program for Creative Writing in order to write her memoir about her struggle with it. She and I started school together, we were in the same advising group together for our first two semesters, and the school I attend is very small. We're a tight knit group. We all complete our work from wherever we happen to live in the US and abroad, but for one full week, twice a year, we attend residency together where we live together, eat together, attend workshops together. It's very intense and life altering. I highly recommend low-residency programs, particularly the one at Goddard College.

She and I also ended up taking the same semester off. Yet, we both returned and for the same reason: that, doing this program is a gift to ourselves. Regardless of money or anything else superfluous to completing the degree, the act of pursuing it is essentially the gift. She didn't attend this past semester because the cancer came back. I know she fought very hard. I also know that, the last semester we attended together, she said something along the lines of, "I'm tired about writing about this - I want to write about life!" She did start writing about her family and all the things that were most important to her rather than this thing.

I've been in shock since I got the news on Monday. It's hard to accept that she's gone. I keep saying to myself, "But I knew her!" Not just like I knew her name, I mean, I knew her! She was a very sharp, positive, supportive person. And funny! She had a great sense of humor. In our second semester, I read the beginning to my novella about a cat, and it's a disgusting hairless cat that is described by its new owner as 'a beast.' Later she was talking about having to wear wigs or hats during chemo, and she said, "Because if I didn't I would look like, well, The Cat!" Then she busted up laughing.

She always wore shirts with Peace signs on them. She bonded much more with some of the other girls at school who I know knew her better than I did, but she was still a friend of mine. It's been sobering. And sad. I'm re-evaluating things in my life, as you do when things like this happen, and more than realizing, but I think remembering, what's important and wherein the true gifts of this life reside. That's with family and friends, trusting yourself enough to follow your heart, indulge your passions: Let yourself live.

Monday, August 22, 2011

It's days like today that I have to remind myself that, "If you love someone, let them go." And hope they come back.

It's also days like today where bad dates can be just a little too disappointing I wish I'd stayed home. I suppose every bad date just puts me one step closer to being with the right person. But, I wonder sometimes...

I see a person I have a crush on be with someone else. I see a person I used to date be with someone else. What can I say - some days just plain stink! But I know that tomorrow will be better, and the day after that, and the day after that. I think of days like today as a way of re-centering. When things get so dark, it's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I know it's there - I've been here before. It's not about being happy 100% of the time - it's about accepting your faults and weaknesses and sometimes we just need to indulge in a crap day. It's refreshing! Moves that stuff out. Detox.

So for now, looking forward to the rain letting up and seeing the sun tomorrow.

There are signs that tell us where to go, when to go, how to go. Mechanically anyway, there are signs. There are Stop signs, there are stop lights, go lights, slow lights. There are traffic revision signs. Detour signs. Don't feed the raptor! signs. All sorts of signs. We live with signs and don't think much of them.

What about other signs along the way? I had the experience today that I was thinking about, actually I had a running dialogue in my head, about this worry I've been having, whether it's going well or isn't. Am I being too optimistic or is this real? What is real? Is pessimism more real than opti-? And then a red bug flew past my face and landed on the wall next to me. It was a ladybug.

I take things like that as signs. Which might mean I'm just crazy, but that's how I roll. I see a ladybug fly past my face as I'm having a heated internal dialogue about something, and I take that as a sign for, "Luck." Maybe, maybe not - but the feeling inside at least is, everything's okay. Babe, you're on the right track.

I can't imagine this doesn't happen to other people. At the very least, we've all experienced the kneejerk reaction when we hear a song that used to be "our" song - or at least the song that made you think of someone special. You're immediately flooded with emotion that would match how you'd react if the person were actually standing in front of you: happiness, sadness, anger, irritation, whatever.

I also recently experienced, while debating about whether I should go this direction or that direction in my life, should I join this group or that group, that's when I looked up and saw an ad for one of the groups I'm debating joining. I didn't take that as a full throttle 'answer' but it definitely added to the sway of that group. And why? Just because I happened to look up and see their poster? Well... yeah.

Friday, August 19, 2011

And I'm feeling a bit lazy and slightly melancholy, I don't have anything terribly witty to write today. I could tell you that I ate pho last night and burnt my tongue, I rode my bike to the cupcake shop and spent about two hours staring at some pages that needed editing of which I think I got through, oh... half a paragraph? I could also tell you I booked a massage for myself tonight... which reminds me, I was actually going to write a little something about that.

Picture a girl who's down in the dumps, no specific reason, just stressed and worried - she's been fixating for awhile on a certain issue and frustration (I realize I'm being vague, but it's so you can input yourself here too) - and she has a momentary realization, which is this: I've been fixating on the lack of something, but what would it feel like to have it? Well, it would feel like this! Happiness. We don't have to punish ourselves because we don't have the things we want, we can actually have them now, just maybe not in exactly the precise form we're hoping for. If you're lacking in love, you can give that to yourself (that sounds perverted, but you can take that any way you want). I'd like to be getting flowers, well I can buy them for myself - I'd like to be giving someone a massage, well, I can get myself a massage. I'd like to be going to dinner with someone, I can take myself out.

Same applies for things we want or people we'd like to be. I want to be a superstar (insert whatever - author). There's no harm in writing the words: I am a famous author - on a piece of paper and putting that in your wallet, is there? And, you can tag on whatever else you want. Rich... I've published thirty spy novels and won 11 Edgar Allan Poe Awards, or whatever. I'm the awesomiest awesome paraglider to ever fly the friendly skies.

Hmmm - and I was just going to post a link as my cop out for the day, which is this guy's blog I stumbled across. He has a lot of great motivational and inspirational articles, and what I liked is that his articles are easy to relate to, they're not preachy or glaringly Tony Robbins'ish - instead, they're actually helpful!

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Positivity can be a struggle, and because writing is all about revision ~ just like life ~ the revised 'Sacrificial Introduction' would read like this:

I've started this second blog and I hope you like it!because my "writing" blog is supposed to be more stuffy I guess and have less personal crap on it. I'm fine with that - especially considering I haven't posted much to it and honestly, I should have a web site rather than a blog. I think that's the 'correct' way to go? But that's neither here nor there.

I want to talk about personas right now. There are many I wear, some more realistic than others. Some are just in my head, let's face it: the one where I hacked the FBI database to prove Leonard Peltier's innocence (novella forthcoming - since that's as close to reality as I'm going to get on that one); or the one where I was born into some sort of Yugoslavian royal mafia that I'm trying to escape; or where I'm an aerialist for Cirque du Soleil and I have a twin sister named Mona - for some reason I'm Japanese in that persona? Anyway.

These are all just escapes from the reality that is me, and I think we all do this, unless maybe you're one of those people born with self-esteem or chutzpah or arrogance or an overly abundant sense of righteousness that our American culture just adores and pushes us to have that makes you look at yourself in the mirror and say, "Hot Damn! I'm awesome!" I might squeak this, to myself, in my head, a few times a year only because my therapist ordered me to. And then spend the rest of the day feeling like an arrogant bastard.

I'm working on this, cuz Hot Damn! I'm awesome!

I've been told I'm nice. Yup, that's right nice. What the fuck's wrong with nice?Nice. Who wants that? People say it like that's a bad thing. Maybe it is. I could attempt to be an asshole, but I just don't really care enough. I have a quiet voice. People don't want quiet - they want LOUD, FERFUCKSAKE! That's what America's built on - LOUD! Death to quiet people, right? I might not be able to scream as loud as you at the bar - and if I yell your name down the street you'll keep walking because you didn't hear me - it takes awhile to get to know me because I don't wear a suit made of survey questions I answered - that's the way it is. And here's the thing about us quiet people. We heard everything you said... think about that.

Personas: Truth is we're never happy with who we are (at least I'm not), hence the use of personas. Not like J. Edgar Hoover or anything, but there is a vision we hold of ourselves. We can't actually see ourselves, so we hold onto some sort of image. I want to be liked. We all want to be liked. The trouble is when it feels like you're pulling out a different persona to try and impress this person, then that person, etc. I do it too because I can't really believe that so-and-so would find me interesting or desirable or whatever, so I tend to try and create that image of myself that is frankly, unrealistic. It's not really me anyway. I have a day job (that I'm not really proud of, I feel like a sell out - but it's a good job nonetheless), but I'm also in grad school completing a Creative Writing degree because I made the decision to devote the time and money to something I truly love - so there's that; I'm not very tall, but who the fuck cares? Most people I like or "look up to", are not very tall - probably taller than me! But still...apparently I'm supposed to be tall, it makes your legs thinner, your hair straighter, and your skin tanner (according to this incredibly sane logic); there are things about my face that are imperfect, but imperfection is far more interesting if I could only tweak them just a tad, even by like 1 degree, would make the whole package that much prettier; I've never been in trouble with the law, I'm a do-gooder by nature, which naturally makes me I'm not a rebel (Everyone loves a rebel! And artists are naturally rebels) - I do think I stole a Dum-Dum out of a candy bin when I was little; not loud (already said that); repeats oneself (1 demerit!); self-deprecating (You're not supposed to be doing this! 2 Demerits!!!)... Well, you get the idea.

How does one deal with this crap?

It's true. Positive thinking does wonders. It's the little steps. I keep a little diary (like an asshole)documenting my little accomplishments. I'm returning to a sport. I document little things I do that contribute toward my skill set there. I document what I do every day with my writing, what I worked on, where I got to. And, yeah, I've finally given in on keeping track of 'feelings.' Mostly to help keep me from careening into the big black sinkhole that I can often take myself to.

Oh christ.... and I've also started meditating. That shit helps!!! There I said it. I meditate.

Maybe one day I'll stop cursing in my writing, but let's hope that day never comes. Fuck!

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

I've started this second blog because my "writing" blog is supposed to be more stuffy I guess and have less personal crap on it. I'm fine with that - especially considering I haven't posted much to it and honestly, I should have a web site rather than a blog. I think that's the 'correct' way to go? But that's neither here nor there.

I want to talk about personas right now. There are many I wear, some more realistic than others. Some are just in my head, let's face it: the one where I hacked the FBI database to prove Leonard Peltier's innocence (novella forthcoming - since that's as close to reality as I'm going to get on that one); or the one where I was born into some sort of Yugoslavian royal mafia that I'm trying to escape; or where I'm an aerialist for Cirque du Soleil and I have a twin sister named Mona - for some reason I'm Japanese in that persona? Anyway.

These are all just escapes from the reality that is me, and I think we all do this, unless maybe you're one of those people born with self-esteem or chutzpah or arrogance or an overly abundant sense of righteousness that our American culture just adores and pushes us to have that makes you look at yourself in the mirror and say, "Hot Damn! I'm awesome!" I might squeak this, to myself, in my head, a few times a year only because my therapist ordered me to. And then spend the rest of the day feeling like an arrogant bastard.

I've been told I'm nice. Nice. Who wants that? People say it like that's a bad thing. Maybe it is. I could attempt to be an asshole, but I just don't really care enough. I have a quiet voice. People don't want quiet - they want LOUD, FERFUCKSAKE! That's what America's built on - LOUD! Death to quiet people, right? I might not be able to scream as loud as you at the bar - and if I yell your name down the street you'll keep walking because you didn't hear me - it takes awhile to get to know me because I don't wear a suit made of survey questions I answered - that's the way it is. And here's the thing about us quiet people. We heard everything you said... think about that.

Personas: Truth is we're never happy with who we are (at least I'm not), hence the use of personas. Not like J. Edgar Hoover or anything, but there is a vision we hold of ourselves. We can't actually see ourselves, so we hold onto some sort of image. I want to be liked. We all want to be liked. The trouble is when it feels like you're pulling out a different persona to try and impress this person, then that person, etc. I do it too because I can't really believe that so-and-so would find me interesting or desirable or whatever, so I tend to try and create that image of myself that is frankly, unrealistic. It's not really me anyway. I have a day job (that I'm not really proud of, I feel like a sell out - but it's a good job nonetheless), so there's that; I'm not very tall, apparently I'm supposed to be tall, it makes your legs thinner, your hair straighter, and your skin tanner (according to this incredibly sane logic); there are things about my face that if I could only tweak them just a tad, even by like 1 degree, would make the whole package that much prettier; I've never been in trouble with the law, I'm a do-gooder, I'm not a rebel (Everyone loves a rebel!) - I think I stole a Dum-Dum out of a candy bin when I was little; not loud (already said that); repeats oneself (1 demerit!); self-deprecating (You're not supposed to be doing this! 2 Demerits!!!)... Well, you get the idea.

How does one deal with this crap?

It's true. Positive thinking does wonders. It's the little steps. I keep a little diary (like an asshole) documenting my little accomplishments. I'm returning to a sport. I document little things I do that contribute toward my skill set there. I document what I do every day with my writing, what I worked on, where I got to. And, yeah, I've finally given in on keeping track of 'feelings.' Mostly to help keep me from careening into the big black sinkhole that I can often take myself to.

Oh christ.... and I've also started meditating. That shit helps!!! There I said it. I meditate.

Maybe one day I'll stop cursing in my writing, but let's hope that day never comes. Fuck!

About Me

Welcome to my blog of many mini-blogs! This blog is my junk drawer, my scribbley journal, my mud pie. I'm taking a stand against the uni-blog, devoted to one topic, because we are all nothing if not organic ~ we may as well embrace all of the threads and wind them together into one delicious yarn.